Guest column: Guilty of driving while black

'If we are going to overcome racism, we need to stop talking about our races as colours,' writes guest columnist William. 'We must understand that we are Canadians with different national and cultural origins.'Photo by
Stephen Fore

I moved from Uganda to B.C. in 1992, aged 14, not knowing quite what to expect. It turned out people here are mostly friendly, but some are very prejudiced.

Back then, my high school principal insisted I play basketball and football, even though I preferred soccer. My younger sister had it worse when her high school teacher told her class all black people living in North America were descended from slaves.

While visiting Kelowna with my friends, two teenage boys drove past us on a main street and yelled, “F--- you n----r, and your mother’s a n----rtoo!”

I was 16, and the abuse was enough reason to chase them. A few white locals coming out of a bar saw what happened and ran after them too.

We caught up with the car, and the teens locked their doors and rolled up their windows but kept calling out racist slurs. A group of about five people including myself began punching the car. The driver panicked and took off, and I thought that was the end of that.

It wasn’t. I’ve been called the n-word by a teenage boy in a vehicle driving beside mine in North Vancouver. A year later, it was a teenage girl at my friend’s house party in West Vancouver.

The last time was by a few young men walking around the University of B.C. campus where I studied. I also had white friends tell me they were called “n----r lovers” by other white people while attending parties with me in Kitsilano around the same period.

In my teens and 20s, I was harassed by police in various Lower Mainland communities. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been pulled over for what one friend describes as “driving while black.”

I was pulled over by four different squad cars minutes apart in an eight-block radius for driving a car that matched the description of a stolen vehicle. It wasn’t.

Police forces have good officers and bullies. I’ve met dozens who played up stereotypes and needed cultural sensitivity training.

When I became engaged to an Indo-Canadian woman, her immigrant mother told her black people were the worst people to marry. Three years later, our union was accepted when she realized we weren’t giving up.

After I turned 30, I had a Hispanic neighbour in North Vancouver who told her daughter to get the video camera when a cop came to my front door asking me to turn the music down at my wedding, and the neighbour joked to her family, “Let’s hope they don’t beat him up like Rodney King.”

The neighbour had been invited over, but instead she called the police. Her daughter told me the story months later and another neighbour confirmed it.

I’ve also witnessed reverse racism practiced by blacks who either distrust other blacks or despise their own skin. I’ve known people who use skin-whitening lotions, and blacks who have blacks-only parties in Surrey.

Caucasian, South Asian and Persian people routinely mistake me for catering staff at banquets and receptions, or a valet or bouncer at bars. A clutched purse in the elevator or on the SkyTrain beside me, or in-store harassment by clerks or security still happens.

My respect for God, myself and other people has kept me from giving in. I’m 35, and I’ve been befriended and hated by people because of my colour since my family moved here from Uganda.

If we are going to overcome racism, we need to stop talking about our races as colours. We must understand that we are Canadians with different national and cultural origins.

Parents need to explain to their children no race anywhere is superior, and that racial minorities and majorities exist in every country. Teachers need to do a better job teaching world history and cultural diversity.

Employers have evolved to suppress prejudice, but I’ve had supervisors — African, Jewish and European Canadians — who expected me to be extra grateful because they hired a black person.

Merit should be the standard.

My parents taught me to work harder as a visible minority because society expected me to fail. My parents meant well, but they were wrong. Obama’s example has helped mixed societies everywhere think constructively about race.

We all have to pioneer against fear and ignorance. Both hatred and acceptance are learned, but my wife and children remind me each day that love is blind, and most importantly, natural.

The author lives in the Lower Mainland. He asked to withhold his last name out of respect for his employer.

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